


If You’re Going Downtown, I Might As Well Be On Your Way. I Won’t Tell One Soul.

by LennaNightrunner



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Complete, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:51:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LennaNightrunner/pseuds/LennaNightrunner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes a walk can clear your head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You’re Going Downtown, I Might As Well Be On Your Way. I Won’t Tell One Soul.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Downtown" by Tegan and Sara.

It was remarkable how much crime occurred on the Wounded Coast. The Viscount's Guard patrolled it regularly, yet thieves and bandits never seemed to wise up to the likelihood of being caught there. It was no wonder, then, that Cullen crossed paths with Hawke there. It was easy to make extra coin emptying pockets and collecting bounties if a person were strong enough to kill or capture the outlaws. Judging by the number of bodies surrounding Hawke and her companions, she preferred the former.

He and the other Templars bristled as one when they felt, then saw Hawke using magic. One of his men had his sword half drawn while another was preparing to smite her power from her, but Cullen signaled for them to stand down. He had been ordered not to harm Hawke, but he wasn’t about to send Templars to aid a mage. So they waited for the battle to end, Cullen’s skin crawling as he studied Hawke’s style and tried to remain composed.

Cullen understood why it was to their benefit that the knight-commander allowed Hawke to remain outside the Circle for the time being; the woman had connections and assets they could use. But regardless of how many blood mages she helped them capture or kill, Cullen wouldn’t allow himself to trust her. You could put a collar on a wolf and call it a dog, but sooner or later you were bound to get bitten.

There was a sudden flash of light that looked like a spell, but it came from somewhere several paces away from Hawke. Cullen’s eyes were drawn to the source of the light, and what he found was an elf, luminous with a glow the shade of lyrium blue associated with magic. Was he a mage, too? Cullen had seen the elf with Hawke before, but would never have have taken him for a mage. He wore armor and a sword; indeed, he was fighting with the sword now--

Cullen’s eyes widened. There was a brighter flash of blue, and then the elf’s hand had _punched through the chest_ of the man he was fighting. A split second later the man was lying dead in the sandy dirt, his heart apparently crushed from within his chest, and blood was dripping from the fingertips of the elf's sharp gauntlet. The only people remaining standing were Hawke and her followers.

Hawke looked up, saw Cullen, and smirked. He strode over to her purposefully and hissed, “Is the elf a mage?”

“Good morning to you, too, Knight-Captain.”

“Answer my question,” he demanded.

“No, he's not,” she said dismissively.

Cullen narrowed his eyes. “Then how did he do that?”

Hawke shrugged. “Ask him yourself.” Then she went to speak with her dwarf companion.

Incensed, Cullen approached the elf, who was wiping the worst of the blood from his gauntlet on a dead bandit’s shirt.

“You there,” Cullen said. “Elf. What kind of magic was that?”

The elf looked up and locked his large eyes on Cullen, teeth bared. “Under what authority do you make demands of me?” he spat, then stood.

“The authority of Knight-Commander Meredith.”

The elf made a sound of contempt. “I am not a mage."

“So Hawke tells me. Yet you use magic," Cullen said, wary.

"Yes." The one word contained a remarkable amount of bitterness.

"But you’re not a mage."

"As I’ve just told you," the elf said irritably.

"How--"

"These filthy markings are the work of a powerful magister in Tevinter." The elf indicated the strange white tattoos that ran along the exposed skin of his arms and neck. Cullen looked down and noticed that they were etched into the tops of his feet, too.

"So the magic comes from them."

“Yes.” The anger in the elf’s voice drew Cullen’s attention to his face again, and he was arrested by the brilliance of his eyes.

Elves were a weakness of Cullen’s. There was something... other-worldly about them. Their eyes, the way they were built. Carroll had always said that their ears were too big and that elf women didn’t have proper curves, but Cullen thought their slight forms and delicate features were beautiful. In Circle Tower he had generally been able to control his impulses, especially when he reminded himself that the elves there _were all mages_ , but every now and then he’d find himself praying to the Maker for forgiveness for the attraction he felt toward one of them or another and for the strength to fight it.

One of many reasons he was glad to be in Kirkwall now.

When Cullen didn’t respond, the elf raised an eyebrow at him and said haughtily, “May I go now, _ser_?”

“I... yes.” Cullen shook his head to clear it and nodded distractedly. “Of course.”

_Maker, curse it._

* * *

Cullen couldn’t sleep.

He walked idly through Hightown without his armor or shield--he wasn’t fool enough to go anywhere without his sword, however--hoping that some solitude and night air would quiet his mind. Unfortunately, when his mind was given free rein, it almost always wandered in one direction, which usually led to a frustrating mixture of guilt and longing. True, the elf wasn’t a mage, so Cullen needn’t have felt guilty about that at least. And his... tastes weren’t all that rare, and weren’t officially forbidden. (After all, what did the Circle expect when it locked a group of young men up in a tower with only mages and each other?) But though it wasn’t something that was discussed, there was a disparity in the severity of the reprimand for a lack of _discretion_ depending on the gender of the other party involved.

So lost in his thoughts was Cullen that he didn’t hear the light footsteps of someone approaching the corner where he was about to turn. This resulted in him nearly knocking the other person--considerably shorter and more slight than him--to the ground.

They both stumbled back a few steps, each muttering a different curse.

Cullen looked down, eyes registering pointed ears, silver hair, and--

“You,” Cullen said, pulse quickening slightly.

The elf scowled and rubbed at his head, which had apparently connected with Cullen’s chest. He wasn’t wearing all of the armor Cullen was used to seeing him in, but he, too, still had his sword.

“Fenris.”

Cullen blinked. “Excuse me?”

“My name.” The elf crossed his arms. “I prefer it to ‘elf’ or ‘you.’”

“I...” Cullen hesitated, then held out his hand. “Well met, Fenris.”

Fenris seemed to struggle internally for a moment, but then uncrossed his arms, took Cullen’s hand in his, and gripped it briefly. He ducked his head in deference while somehow managing to convey no respect at all. “Knight-Captain.”

“Cullen.”

The elf--Fenris--eyed Cullen warily. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d feel more comfortable with Knight-Captain.”

Cullen frowned. “As you wish.”

There were a few seconds of awkward silence before Cullen could come up with something to keep Fenris from walking away.

“What are you doing here?”

Fenris looked affronted. “I live here.” He nodded over his shoulder to the front door of a nearby mansion, then looked back at Cullen with narrowed eyes and said, “There wasn’t room in the alienage.”

_Well done, Cullen._

“I didn’t mean--”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“Look, I--”

“Aren’t there mages you should be hunting down? Or have we done all of that for you?”

Cullen bristled and said stiffly, “Hawke has been a great help to the Circle.”

Fenris snorted. “You know that she’s a mage.”

“Yes.”

“And yet you let her walk free.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to arrest your friend?”

“No.”

“Then--”

“I simply wish to understand.”

“Knight-Commander Meredith believes she’s more valuable to us outside the Circle,” said Cullen. “Much as I hate to admit it, Hawke has gotten us out of several... difficult situations.”

“And when she has outgrown her usefulness?”

Cullen hesitated, but it was clear that honesty was the best approach with Fenris. “Then it will be up to the knight-commander to decide her fate.”  
.  
“She will never submit to the Circle,” Fenris said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“If the knight-commander wishes it, she’ll have no choice.”

“I pity whoever is sent for her.” To Cullen’s surprise, Fenris was smiling--only one corner of his mouth turned up, but combined with a glint in eyes it was clear.

“You believe she’s that formidable?” Cullen asked skeptically.

“No,” said Fenris, and Cullen raised an eyebrow. “I know she is.”

Cullen stifled a laugh. “Kirkwall’s Templars are some of the best in Thedas.”

“You say that with such humility.”

_Maker, that_ smile _._

“She’s one mage.”

His smile faded. “You would be surprised at the damage one mage can do.”

Cullen’s tone matched the bitterness in Fenris's. “I assure you, I would not.”

Fenris’s large eyes, brilliant even at night, searched Cullen's face for something. Cullen looked away self-consciously. There was another awkward silence.

“Would you...” Fenris’s voice was soft now. Impossible to read. “I was about to go for a walk. Would you like to accompany me?”

“I...” Cullen, taken aback, looked at Fenris and blinked a few times. Half a dozen questions came to his mind. Half a dozen chances to ruin this. So he forced them all down.

“Yes.”

* * *

The next night found Cullen wandering through the streets of Hightown again. There was too much to think about to sleep. He and Fenris had walked together amiably for the better part of an hour before Cullen had made himself say goodnight and go back to Templar Hall. They hadn’t spoken of anything of importance. No deep secrets or great truths were exchanged. A fair amount of the time was spent in companionable silence. But it had been... nice. Calming.

He turned into the side street where Fenris’s mansion stood before deciding that it would look foolish to hover there. He walked the other way for several paces before he felt a presence at his side and found that Fenris had fallen into step with him. Cullen tried to hide a smile as they walked together.

“Knight-Captain,” Fenris said by way of greeting, but didn’t look at Cullen.

“Good evening, serah.”

Fenris snorted in response.

"You're not used to being shown respect, I take it?"

"Not as a rule, no." The bitterness was back. "I don't know what the customs are in the Free Marches, but slaves aren't afforded much of it in Tevinter."

"Slaves?" Cullen heard himself say before he could prevent it. Cullen had been accustomed to elvish servants growing up in Ferelden, but slaves were another matter.

Fenris stopped abruptly. His defiant glare confirmed how offensive Cullen had feared his remark might be.

"Yes. A fugitive slave, actually. Perhaps you should notify the rest of the Templars that a powerful magister is likely to come to Kirkwall to reclaim his _property_ ," he said with utmost loathing.

Cullen didn't know how to respond to that. Guilt twisted in his gut as Fenris turned and walked on. Cullen hesitated, then strode quickly to catch him up. They walked together in silence for several long minutes with a frustrating tension between them until Cullen couldn’t bear it anymore.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. "Whatever you were in Tevinter, you're free here. Kirkwall does not honor the laws of the magisters."

Fenris stopped again and looked up at Cullen. His expression was strangely blank and his voice even when he said, "I will never be free until one of us is dead. I will not go back to Tevinter."

"No magister will come to Kirkwall and leave alive," Cullen assured him.

"You do not know Danarius."

“Even so.” He put his hand on Fenris’s shoulder and gripped it gently. Fenris looked up at him with enough anger in his eyes to put Cullen on his guard at first, but they softened before Cullen withdrew his hand. Cullen felt pinned by his gaze. He hesitated to say anything else for fear of offending Fenris again. But he couldn’t keep walking. 

So Cullen did something insane: He dipped his head and pressed his lips against Fenris’s, warily--after all, he had a very big sword and the ability to crush people’s hearts from within their chests. Cullen was very mindful of that fact when Fenris pulled away and stared at him. Cullen took a step back and found himself against wall of a nearby building.

_Brilliant_.

Blue light rippled across the white markings in Fenris’s skin, and Cullen reached for his sword. Too late. Fenris’s hand was pressed against Cullen's chest, then--

Then Cullen felt the gentle pressure of lips on his. He inhaled sharply in surprise. Fenris’s kiss grew more insistent, his teeth found Cullen’s lower lip, and Cullen’s pulse raced. He rested his hand on Fenris’s shoulder for balance, but that contact wasn’t enough, and soon his fingers had found their way into Fenris’s hair as the kiss deepened.

Footsteps from around the corner caused Fenris to break away abruptly and step back several paces. Cullen watched two of the viscount’s guards walk by without noticing them. Once they were gone he breathed a sigh of relief and looked back at Fenris. 

But he wasn’t there.

“Good night,” Cullen murmured to no one. He decided he’d had enough of a walk for that night.

* * *

Cullen lay awake in his bed the next night, his mind at war with itself about whether to go out. In the end he decided that, regardless of how likely it was that he'd run into Fenris again, it was better than lying there thinking about him. As he walked through Hightown he didn't linger near Fenris's mansion. There was great chance of something going wrong if he pursued that interest. And there was no guarantee that Fenris had any real interest in Cullen, either. Responding to one kiss didn't necessarily indicate a hope for a repeat encounter.

A figure jumped down onto the ground from a rooftop to the left of Cullen, and his hand went to his sword hilt. Thieves weren't common in Hightown, but there was the potential for good loot if a clever one could manage a robbery, especially under cover of night.

"Knight-Captain."

Cullen released the hilt of his sword and smiled.

"Fenris," he said for the first time since Fenris had told him his name, and thought he received a small smile in response.

"Do you ever sleep?" Fenris asked, his tone somehow light though his voice was deep.

"Not as much as I ought to, probably."

"Troubled mind?"

Cullen shrugged. "I find it difficult to relax in a building full of potential abominations."

Fenris frowned and said nothing.

"And you?" Cullen asked after a minute of silence.

"Hm?" Fenris looked up at him.

"Do you ever sleep?"

Fenris chuckled half-heartedly. "I am a fugitive. With an... unpleasant past. Sleep is an inconvenience."

_Unpleasant_. That meant nightmares. Cullen could empathize.

"A necessary one, unfortunately."

"Yes."

Silence fell again as they walked with no particular direction in mind. Every now and then one of them would look over at the other, and if they did so at the same time they would quickly look away. What felt like an hour later they found themselves at Fenris's front door.

Cullen didn't want to go back to Templar Hall. He didn't want to try to sleep. He didn't want to _think_. Walking with Fenris for the past three nights had been the calmest Cullen had felt since he could remember. Fenris's voice was soothing, his presence comforting.

Fenris hesitated at the door. He didn't ask Cullen to come in, but he didn't say goodnight. His hand closed around the doorknob, but he didn't twist it. Cullen wanted to kiss him again. Maybe Fenris wanted that, too. Maybe that's why he hadn't gone in.

Cullen moved closer to Fenris and dipped his head, but no, Fenris stepped back and opened the door behind him. Cullen frowned, but nodded his understanding.

"Good ni--"

Fenris shook his head. Once he was inside the house, he held the door open for Cullen. He seemed unable to ask Cullen to stay, but didn't want him to leave. This made Cullen smile. He looked down the street for anyone who might see him, and when he found it deserted he followed Fenris inside.

The door closed, and then Fenris was kissing him.

* * *

The first thought Cullen had upon waking was that the bed he was lying in was far too comfortable to be his. Though as knight-captain he had his own quarters, the Circle seemed to think that sleeping on what felt like slabs of stone was beneficial in some way. Cullen often suspected that the ‘mattresses’ were part of the reason he hadn’t had more than a few decent nights’ sleep since he’d gone to the Chantry as a boy.

The next thing he registered was that his arm was draped around something--no, some _one_ \--warm and solid, lying close enough that a smooth cheek was pressed to Cullen’s shoulder as an alternative to a pillow.

The third was that this person smelled good.

The fourth was that they were both naked.

Cullen opened his eyes and blinked the sleep out of them. They were greeted with silver hair, then the canopy of the large bed. Fenris's bed. Cullen remembered. The front door had closed, Fenris had kissed him. Somehow they’d gotten upstairs. And then they’d... and then he’d... stayed.

Fenris stirred in his arms. Cullen could sense that he was awake, but neither of them said anything. Should he leave? Cullen had never fallen asleep with anyone after... Well, there hadn’t been an opportunity. His experiences had generally been rushed, secret. Usually there wasn’t even a bed involved, let alone one available to sleep in.

“Good morning,” he whispered against the pointed ear he’d apparently marked quite a bit with his teeth the previous evening in his fervor. The sudden memory of it made his face grow hot. He lifted his head and noticed marks he’d made along the elf’s neck and shoulders.

“Did I hurt you?”

A low chuckle was muffled against Cullen’s shoulder. “Yes. But you may recall that I did not object.” Fenris ran his fingers over Cullen’s back and the skin there suddenly began to sting. “And neither did you.”

Cuts from fingernails. Yes, Cullen did indeed recall. Fenris had given as good as he’d got. Cullen could only be grateful that his armor covered so much of his skin; he would hate to be forced to have a mage heal the marks before the knight-commander saw them.

Cullen stared up at the canopy of the bed as he absently ran his fingers through Fenris’s hair, thumb tracing along the edge of his ear as memories of the previous night were pleasantly floating back into his consciousness.

“You slept a long time.”

Cullen chuckled. “Someone’s been keeping me up half the night.”

Fenris snorted good-humoredly. “You have only yourself to blame.”

The light filtering through the curtains was surprisingly bright.

“Maker, how late is it?” Cullen sat up abruptly and squinted at the window.

Fenris frowned. “You have to go?”

“The knight-commander will have my head if I’m late.” Reluctantly, Cullen extricated himself from the bed and hunted around for his clothing, shivering in the cool air after the warmth of Fenris’s body. 

They were both silent as Cullen dressed. An unspoken question hung between them in the air: _What now?_ Cullen didn’t know how to navigate this sort of thing. He wanted more, but if this went on it would get more and more complicated. Maybe it would be for the best if he ended it now.

“Fenris, I...”

Cullen turned back toward the bed, searching for the right words.

“Yes?”

_Andraste’s blood, those eyes..._ No, this couldn’t be the end.

"I was thinking of going for a walk tonight. Would you like to accompany me?"

"I’d like that," Fenris said with his half-smile, "Cullen."


End file.
